Where It Begins

I don't want to feel too obliged and prideful of myself yet.
When you get a lot in one time, irritation attacks on what's the better first.
You reflect and don't refract at all in everything that even makes you assume.
I feel both envious and disgusted at innocence.
You can be extremely happy without knowing anything, anyway or so that is it.
It wasn't really unnecessary. I'm just locked in time.
It's funny how distance tend to ruin the solitude itself and bring indifference.
I hear music as it is, coexisting with me and it makes me wait.
The extraordinary tenses life can make is too overwhelming.